


Golden Velvet

by Ereschkigal



Category: One Piece
Genre: Death, Drama & Romance, Multi, One Shot Collection, Reader-Insert, Reader-Interactive, Romance, Various situations, We're not always happy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:21:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 16,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27879766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ereschkigal/pseuds/Ereschkigal
Summary: Ready for some thrills? Then come closer! Whether it's crazy researchers, gentle revolutionaries, headstrong women or quarrelsome pirates, you're sure to find it here. Let yourself be carried away into short situations, get closer to your darling and who knows - maybe it will leave a tingling sensation on your skin.
Relationships: Bartholomew Kuma/Reader, Bartolomeo (One Piece)/Reader, Benn Beckman/Reader, Caesar Clown/Reader, Charlotte Pudding/Reader, Dellinger/Reader, Dracule Mihawk/Reader, Eustass Kid/Reader, Fushichou Marco | Phoenix Marco/Reader, Hina/Reader, Jewelry Bonney/Reader, Koala/Reader, Monkey D. Luffy/Reader, Nefertari Vivi/Reader, Nico Robin/Reader, Portgas D. Ace/Reader, Sabo/Reader, Scratchmen Apoo/Reader, Silvers Rayleigh/Reader, Trafalgar D. Water Law/Reader, Various/Reader, Vinsmoke Reiju/Reader, Vinsmoke Sanji/Reader, Violet/reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 56





	1. Caesar Clown

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Golden Velvet](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/721746) by Ereschkidal. 



> Hi there guys! Just a short notice!  
> This is a one shot collection based on various songs. So the plot is always a little bit based on the respective song. Just so you don't wonder how you might know the headlines.  
> I hope you will have fun reading those various situations I created~

**//1 Coin// – Happiness Is A Warm Gun**

♦ _Perhaps happiness is the warm embrace of death.  
_ _Or the madness in his gaze. ♦_

There are bubbling sounds that keep your conscious awake. Somewhere beside you, in a basin of water as hot as the boiling blood in your veins, they rise to the surface and burst. A bit like your wishes and goals when you came to this place. Never would you have thought that Punk Hazard – that _Caesar Clown_ – would change you like this. But your mind had played a trick on you, carried your body away and brought you into this situation where your heart now beats higher than usual.  
Yet you don't regret it. On the contrary, you enjoy it.

In Caesar you have found everything you have ever looked for without even realizing it. It was only when he faced you for the first time that you understood that you wanted to be closest to this man. His madness, driven by scientific innovation, is something that haunts you even now as you close your eyes and take a slow breath.  
You are lying on a cold, much too hard lounger, which has only been covered with a shallow cloth. Naked, completely defenceless, you present yourself in this place, with Clown's back turned to you. You know it, because you hear his fingers dancing wildly over the keys of his machine, typing all kinds of things.  
Slowly opening your eyes again, you look at the sharp needles above you. The narrow containers behind them contain a serum that will be administered to you – exactly as discussed. For Caesar's sake, you will become the first guinea pig for the direct injection of a scientifically created Devil Fruit, which will immediately awaken in your body. Either it will tear you to pieces, drive the madness through your skin, or you will master what he gives you.  
There is nothing you would like better than to show him how special you are. That his invested time was just right. If you survive this little experiment, you will be his number one forever. You're sure of that.  
It's all right with you, because your love for him is something unique, something completely experimental that you cannot escape. With each passing day in this place, you have become more and more like him.  
Where before you were looking for law and order, as an infiltrated help of the Navy, there is no reason to miss all this anymore. Much more you have realized how boring rules are, when you can create so much more, by just going too far.

“That's it, that's it!” His unconventional laughter fills the room, conveying to you that you will soon have to prove yourself. You can't help turning your head to the side, looking at him in the hope that he will turn to you again. Your body is completely cooled down, makes you tremble and at the same time your heart beats faster, more irregularly with joy. A soft sigh unrolls your lips, makes him look at you. His yellow eyes shine with excitement, while his piercing gaze seems to swallow you. He watches you, looks intensively, checks every inch of your skin. It should be uncomfortable, but you are enjoying his interest, enjoying the attention he has given you so often over the past few months. You can feel your fingers slowly burying themselves in the velvet from which the cloth beneath you was made. Your fingertips feel the soft bumps, the strange feeling that the fabric leaves behind. It resembles a tingling sensation on your skin, caused by the looks of that man at your side. He seems to notice your inner restlessness, which makes his grin widen. “Are you planning to escape?”  
His tone is clearly amused, which only brings a presumptuous smile to your lips. “What are you thinking? I can hardly wait, Master.”  
Your statement is clear, which is why Clown won't let you ask him twice. Again he turns away from you, so that his white cloak, which ends so surreal in thick smoke, remains all you can see. You take it in, turn your head back to the ceiling and still hear something clacking at your side. Shortly after the needles come closer and closer, heading for your body, which is so defencelessly inferior to them. Accompanied by a mechanical whirring, the cold tips touch your skin, cannot be stopped by it, penetrate. You can feel the stabbing pain that settles almost everywhere. In your arms and legs, on your stomach, in your shoulders – near your neck – and also in your abdomen. The sterile metal penetrates you to a certain point, which you cannot detect, because all you feel is this unpleasant sensation inside you. It lasts for a moment until you feel the fluids inside you being secreted. Foreign and cold it mixes with your blood, gets warmer, starts to burn inside. The pain that comes with this stimulates you to want to flee, but you cannot move. Every movement tears at your skin, making these endless needles seem threateningly fragile. You have no choice but to tolerate the pain, to survive the heat inside you. You want to be Caesar's number one and for that you have to survive this experiment.  
It gets to you, makes you roll your eyes, moan pitifully, while this liquid poison is still spreading within you and the needles are only slowly withdrawing from your body. Your head pours out images that play in front of your eyes. Hallucinations in which Caesar hovers above you while his black hair reaches down slightly towards you – until he breaks into mosaic, reflecting thousands of colours. He reassembles himself, becomes one again, is still above you. His smile expresses success, which you cannot understand. Breathing becomes more and more difficult, seems like an agony. The oxygen burns in your lungs, tiring your body, while your muscles tense up but your body stops moving. You just lie there, looking into the eyes of this illusion that whispers a soft, “You belong to me, oh, you don't know how important you are to me”.

You can hear his footsteps slowly coming in your direction while your eyes are still attached to this picture in front of you. His lips, so purple, so captivating, they never stop forming words that you can no longer hear. All you are left with is a blurred perception of yourself and the trust you put in both of you.  
The next thing that reaches out to your motionless body is the free fall and the panic of simply hitting somewhere. Your eyes turn back to the bare ceiling above you, so bright, so lost and abandoned, but it doesn't move away. It's confusing because you don't know if you're safe or if you're actually falling and the ceiling with you.  
The rapid breathing lets you notice that taking a breath has become easier and the heat in your body slowly dissipates, making the unpleasant feeling disappear inside you. Still, you are sure you need help because your limbs are not moving and it's scary. You close your eyes, hoping for improvement. The image of a pistol manifests itself in your head. The barrel, as warm as the blood in your veins, pressed against your temple – the certainty that you could die in this place. It triggers a pleasant feeling inside you. At least it would have been for Caesar's research and that is enough. It is enough to satisfy you and to perceive the pain in your cramped muscles only as light stitches. Maybe they finally relax because you let go and try to block out everything else. You just want to relax until you can hear his voice in your ears. “You're still alive?!”  
He seems enthusiastic, audibly slaps a hand next to your head on the lounger, so you lift your eyelids again and look at him. This time he is not an illusion, he is real and he has bent over you and your naked body. His eyes are beaming with joy, the corners of his mouth tremble slightly. In his eyes you are number one now, nobody can touch you anymore. He will guard you, you know that and it takes an exhausted smile from you before you answer him: “Yes, I am. Surprised?”  
He looks pleased, bends down further so you can feel his warm breath on your lips. You would like to grab him, pull him down to you and kiss him, but your fingers only tremble when you try to move them.  
“You are a success! You...are my success. I wonder how much more I can do with you...” Caesar lowers his eyelids a little, seems taken with the thought of testing much more with you. “I hope that you will remain with me a little longer.”  
You can hardly feel it and yet you perceive it completely. His warm lips touch the corner of your right mouth, causing an unrestrained tingling sensation at this point, which makes your blood rush in your ears. Followed by a high whimper in your ears, you watch as he slowly moves away from you, probably leaving nothing more than a touch of purple on your skin.


	2. Eustass Kid

**//2 Coin// – You Really Got A Hold On Me**

♦ _Love can be so terribly overwhelming.  
_ _Yet we wriggle into pleasantries. ♦_

“Dirty bastard...” Grumbling, you wring a rag out, put it on Kid's forehead, where some beads of sweat have already formed. Four times you told him that a fight against Big Mom was simply idiotic, but he wouldn't listen to you. Now he got what he asked for and you know he deserves it. Still, you're sorry to see how hard his breath is and how much the pain is killing him.  
The Empress has taken one of his arms, inflicted injuries that are not to be taken easily. He has been lying there in his bed for three days, sweating and writhing under the pain. It breaks your heart to see him like this, although you can't even stand him. This red-haired devil is a plague in your life, a nerve-racking nuisance that drives you crazy in a way you love.  
 _You love him.  
_ And at the same time you wish him dead.  
Sighing, you sit down next to him on the bed, watching his face, which slowly relaxes. His red lipstick is smeared and his hair leaves the pillow under his head on fire.  
There isn't a single moment when you don't think of him. All the time your thoughts revolve around him, whether positive or negative. They are there and they are with you all the time. You cannot even understand why you feel this way. After all, _Eustass Kid_ is a horrible man who doesn't treat you very well. He makes fun of you, flirts with you and then tells you how ugly you are – that you're not his type. Kid took you with him when you were on the run, when you wanted to take a trip, far away into the distance. You wanted to reach the horizon, something that hasn't changed. You still want to travel to the end of the world, but with that creep at your side.  
His eyes, blazing with adventure in a way you've never seen before, have made the colour in yours seem so insignificantly weak. You wanted to see more of him, to see the facade behind this figure, which is why you are with him now. With the icy oath that you would always be at his side, you can't escape now. Trapped in his clutches, you try to make the best of life in his crew as your eyes scrutinise, analyse and undress him every day. Your love is like a death wish, that's how insane it seems. You have to admit that there is something about him that holds you together. When he lies there like that, not knowing what is happening to him and completely defenceless, all you have left is a smile. Carefully you reach out to him and stroke his sweaty cheek. Your thumb goes over his lips, smearing the red colour a little more and you can hear a heavy moaning escape from him.

You don't want him, but you need him, you know that. If Big Mom had taken this man from you, your heart would have broken into more pieces than you could ever put back together again. Even in those seconds when you're free to touch him, your heart keeps pounding your chest, making you breathe faster, making you bite your lower lip.  
No, you don't want to kiss him, but you need him. His warmth, his words, his body and mind. You don't want to give up any of that. Your trembling hands don't want to miss it. Slowly your fingertips go over his skin, down his chin to his neck. Men are horribly vulnerable at this point. He too. Eustass would never willingly let you get so close to typical weak points where he couldn't somehow keep control. A completely wrong assessment, because you would never hurt him. Your love for him wouldn't tolerate more than a few scratches, bites and punches, which you could give him with pleasure. But he is already ailing, and your job is to care for him and patch him up while the rest of the crew keeps the ship in order.

Your fingers continue down, past his larynx, down to his chest. It raises slightly, then lowers again. _What would it be like to lie in his arms and come even closer to this unified movement?_ A question you don't know how to answer. Only the will within you indicates that you would like to touch him more than just superficially. You want to be much closer than just sitting there looking at him as if he were an injured puppy. Kid is a strong man who could easily bear your weight in this state.  
But when you bend down a little towards him, your body no longer obeys you. Instead, every cell in it trembles, your heart beats stronger, your breathing becomes more uncontrolled. Heat rises up inside you, accumulates noticeably in your cheeks, in your face, even under the skin of your neck. While you want to be close to him, you also want to escape. Get away from him, away from this ship. You don't want to waste your time with a man who makes you this crazy, annoys and disgusts you, fascinates and physically attracts you. Leaving this crew seems like the only true thing and yet – you can't get up and go.  
Your legs are numb, denying you any action to flee. Whatever Eustass has done to you and your body, it is horrible because you don't know how to deal with it. If you give yourself over to the thoughts in your head and heart without wasting space for logic and time on unnecessary considerations, then you know you love Kid. You desire him, want to find yourself in his arms, feel how he presses you against his muscular upper body. That is why you surrender yourself. You let yourself fall, onto his body, feel the skin of his chest against your cheek. For a moment you lower your eyelids and smell blood, antiseptic and sweat. A mixture that is so strange and unpleasant, but which cannot make you take an upright position.  
You enjoy this moment of closeness, the warmth that permeates your body and leaves you with a pleasant tingling sensation. You also feel the light pressure, the heaviness on your back and the pleasant sighing leaves your throat as if it were natural.  
“Merciless woman.” His voice whispers to your ear, making you raise your head in horror. You can't get any higher, because his arm lies on your back and you can't manage to push him off you. Instead, you stare at him while his gaze hangs on the ceiling.  
“I've been looking after you for the last few days,” you reply to him, staring with nervousness that turns your stomach.  
“I know. And in return you seem to take what you want. What a cunning beast you are. Haven't I raised you well enough these past months?” He's smiling, seems to be enjoying himself.  
“Do I look like your poster child?” In fact, you end up pushing his arm away from you, so that his attention wanders in your direction, while you crawl forward a bit until you are right above him. “You lack the ability to educate me, Captain.”  
“Bitch.” Angry at your audacity, Kid pulls the corners of his mouth downwards, then immediately grabs your hair with his hand. He doesn't pull your hair, but he clearly shows you that he likes to have the upper hand and doesn't like the way you handle him. It makes you grin, makes you bend down lower towards him. You feel the tension as you get so close to his lips and it is hard to resist the temptation. Eustass doesn't know whether to say anything, just stares at you from those eyes that express so much bite and passion. It awakens in you the urge to play.  
“If you want me to do what you say, then maybe you should put a collar on me. Or maybe it would be enough if you were a little more docile, just for me.”  
The corners of his mouth lift as his hand grips tighter. He doesn't agree. “Just over my dead body, woman.”


	3. Jewelry Bonney

**//3 Coin// – The Sheik Of The New World**

♦ _Power gives you everything you ask for.  
__Except the things you really want. ♦_

Her snivelling gasps are the long-forgotten music in your ears that no other slave in the world can bring you. No one is able to entertain you as she does. Not even the rarest goods in the world.  
Chained up like a dog, the clink of metal shackles periodically reaches your ears, makes you smile, makes you desire. Her soft skin, her shapely body that you have marked with your merciless love. The red welts on her body are a sign that she belongs to you, that she cannot run away. Not as long as you have the power to hold her captive.  
And your power as a Celestial Dragon is limitless.

You saw _Jewelry Bonney_ in the newspaper not too long ago, being named as part of the Worst Generation. It wasn't her looks that bound you that day, but the mischievous look that seemed to mock everyone else while she had nothing to fear. Something in you wanted to experience that mockery first hand and at the same time watch if you could keep her as yours.  
Your mission to capture this woman alive and bring her to you was a simple one. No one asks questions when a god gives an order and all you had to do afterwards was wait. Your patience is angelic, even if it requires a certain amount of physical restraint, which you had to maintain during the time until your beloved finally arrived.  
Now she hangs there in front of you, gasping in pain, perhaps in pleasure. You don't know, sitting opposite her on a throne, custom-made just for you. The whip still rests in your hand and your eyes have been on her sweaty body for minutes.  
Her pink hair falls forward in strands as she holds her head up just far enough to give you a furious look. Her irises, so purple, so captivating, the way they look at you with disgust and at the same time underlying insecurity, you can't resist the sight. In fact, you want to bind her to you, not hurt her. But her way of doing things stirs something deep inside you that makes you reach for the wrong method again and again – and you're still not satisfied.

With a sigh, you rise from your seat, strolling leisurely towards Bonney as your footsteps create a slight echo in the room. You walk up to Jewelry, kneel down, grab a strand of her hair. As soft as velvet in your hands, it shimmers gracefully in the dim light that barely reaches down to you from the high ceiling. Lowering your eyelids a little, you bring the tips to your mouth, kissing them gently, recognizing for the first time that day the faint bloody scent that clings to her. It makes your heart beat faster, triggers a strange feeling in you that leaves an itchy tingle on your skin. _Did this woman just send a shiver down your spine?  
_You don't know, letting go of her hair, leaning forward, smelling the sweat whose sweet smell penetrates and befuddles your senses. It makes your hand act uncontrollably, reaching for her chest, grazing the bare skin as your lips settle on her ear.  
“You're mine, Bonney.” Your voice is like a breath, making her flinch briefly before a low growl escapes her throat. Her head finds its way back a little, so that you too move far enough away from her to look into her face. You refrain from touching her chest, preferring instead to stroke her collarbone with your fingertip.  
“Go to hell, you disgusting insect!” She can't be restrained, tries to hit you under the chin with her knee, lunges with her other leg to kick you away. But you know her pattern, back away, catch her other attack, give her a friendly smile.  
Though your existence is of such great importance, she dares to insult you again and again. Seriously, this woman has no respect for higher-ups and she would still make her own will clear even in the face of death.  
You could torture her, turn your love more and more into action, take away her nights and try to break her. But it would take the fun out of it. That look in her eyes is what hypnotises you, what catches you and proves that you have a thing for her, even though she is out of your league. For most, conventional people are just parasites whose air you don't want to share. However, you know that you too are human and that there are limits. Your power would never assure you of this woman's heart and compliance.

You can't help but take her chin between your thumb and forefinger and stroke the stray strands behind her ear with your other hand. Looking at her like this, you know that you have marked her enough. Every punch she would take in the outside world would remind her of you, and it was good enough – for a start.  
“Bonney, I am willing to rule this world with you.” You move closer to her, heading for her lips, which she doesn't miss. Before you know it, she's spitting at you, making her saliva stick to your cheek, making you flinch for a moment.  
“This world will perish with people like you! You let it crumble and watch it do so...make a joke of treating everything like your personal plaything!” Snarling, she yanks at the chains, their clanking making you look up. Jewelry doesn't move, tied up like a slave she's not supposed to be. You know this, but still you enjoy the power you have over her life in these seconds.  
“That is why I am willing to let you go. Try to lead us all on the right path.” Almost automatically, you tilt your head, putting on a patronising grin as you reach out to her. Your fingers graze her cheek, which only makes her duck her head to the side in disgust. She is visibly confused by your statement and you use this moment to lean forward, stealing a kiss from her.  
Her lips are soft, hot from the anger that makes her boil inside. You enjoy this moment, her closeness, feel the clean conscience she brings you. As if she were your better half, straightening out your twisted insides. It makes you aware that in your heart the education of the Celestial Dragons collides with the desire for freedom. These two fronts clash so strongly that you are left only with violence to endure the pent-up insecurities. It makes you smile into the kiss. The insecurity you saw in her eyes before was only a reflection of your own fear. One that forces you to release this pirate before you truly destroy her.

While your thoughts search for the cure for the moment, you don't notice how Bonney reacts under your kiss. You can only feel her lips moving, not returning your affection. This realisation is punctuated with a stabbing pain that prompts you to break physical contact. She bit you and you reacted. A mistake that your counterpart knows to exploit. She lunges, takes advantage of your lack of balance and kicks you in the face, sending you crashing backwards onto the cold flagstones of the floor. There is a dull throbbing inside you, pulling something tight, stealing your breath, while you can hear the metallic taste of thick blood on your tongue.  
Looking up at the light above you, you just lie there, inwardly praising the bite of your beloved. The bite of the woman who awakens something in you that seems so similar to love. A feeling you must not indulge. She is too worthless for your company and yet, in your eyes, she is the queen on a chessboard used by so many. She is a pirate – and you know: _Jewelry Bonney will never be yours._


	4. Koala

**//4 Coin// – Like Dreamers Do**

♦ _Dreams are a blessing for the soul.  
_ _And the happiness of the heart, if they become real. ♦  
  
_

“Over here!” With a wave she asks you to come closer. Once again _Koala_ has stopped in front of a shop window and points to a few little things that you both need to get for Dragon.  
Actually Sabo should have gone with her, but his duties left him no time for shopping with the revolutionary, so you unceremoniously agreed to do it. You, someone who spends most of the day dreaming, which sometimes feels more real than reality itself. Just like in these seconds when you follow Koala and your eyes wander up and down her petite figure. You're not sure if this day is really happening or if you're just imagining it. After all, Koala is also just a woman in your dreams.  
You have already come to love her before you have even met her. Her short hair, the innocent eyes, the encouraging smile. She's everything you ever wanted and when she came face to face with you in the flesh, you didn't know if it was just imagination.  
In your world, reality and dream have long been blurred on the border and you don't know whether to thank that fact in moments like these.

Koala is the woman of your dreams and it seems that she is also the one you want to give your heart to in reality. Only looking at her makes your heart beat faster, makes it throb, makes you breathe harder. She is there, so close to you, but at the same time in an unreachable distance. You know it, which is why you stop. Your eyes are still on her and she notices that you are not moving forward, turns to you.  
“Hey, we don't have much time! You can't just stop!” Her voice seems reproving, at the same time a little rushed, since you actually have only a small amount of time to do the shopping. But you cannot wrestle yourself to go on. Everything in you wants to solve the riddle before your eyes. _Is she real? Or is she part of your imagination?  
_ Sighing, you run your hand through your hair and close your eyes. Your legs don't want to move, they refuse to work. First you have to sort yourself out.  
Lifting your eyelids a little, you realise that Koala is coming back to you. At this moment she may look like a fantasy, fake, too good to be true. Her airy pink top hugs her body, while the much too short skirt gives you a view of her bare thigh skin. The rest of her legs are covered by long black stockings and it looks terribly attractive. It makes her legs a little longer than they really are, makes you gulp conspicuously. You love the sight of it. It triggers a tingling sensation on your skin that makes you want to touch her, to feel her, to scan every inch of her body. Acts that you can only execute if this woman, who has almost reached you, is actually real.

“Are you even listening to me?” Pursing her lips in frustration, Koala stops in front of you, thrusts her hands on her hips, looks at you reproachfully. She's so close, offering you a chance of validation, and your entire body seems to tremble with desire. Just once you want her in your arms. That's why you put on a smile, take a tiny step towards her.  
“Everything's fine. I was just wondering about something.”  
“Something important?” Uncertain, she tilts her head, looks at you questioningly. Her eyes are so full of interest, of unfathomable secrets you want to unravel. So you grab her by the wrist, pull her towards you. Her breasts press against your torso as your hands find a firm place on her back. You squeeze her against your body, listening to her stunned gasp for air. Something inside you demands that you take her breath away, cross a line. Your mind shuts down so that you can only stare at her, while everything else seems to fall into place.  
Before she can say anything, you are already pressing your lips on hers, feeling her warmth, thinking you can taste it. You are gentle but firm, biting her lower lip gently so that she opens her mouth in protest. She wants to tell you something, probably stop you, but you take the chance. Your lips find space on hers again, your tongue wanders into her oral cavity, explores it. This time you really taste her, sweet, fruity. You gently stroke the top of her mouth, feel her press her own tongue against yours. She wants to push you away, but at the same time she doesn't want to give you away – at least that's how it feels when she bites gently, but doesn't let go of you. Her breath brushes the skin under your nose and on your chin as you try to pull away. She isn't a dream, she is real and you have been allowed to feel it, to taste it.  
Your thirst for knowledge is satisfied, but not your racing heart, which seems to melt at the sight of her. Her cheeks are slightly flushed, her lips moist and there is a sparkle in her eyes that you usually only notice when she is with Sabo.  
“T-That came as a surprise.” Nervously, she takes a step back, plays with a strand of her hair, looks in another direction. “Was that what you were wondering about?”  
For a moment you just look at her, trying to get your mind working again. It's hard, makes you breathe faster as the uncertainty makes it harder to catch your breath. Still, you wrestle yourself into an apologetic smile, nod briefly.  
Her taste burns your lips, her nearness still tingles your skin.  
It is this feeling, this acquired certainty, that makes you realise that the woman of your dreams does indeed exist. She's facing you, hands clasped behind her back right now, turning away from you as she puckers her mouth in embarrassment.  
And you love her for it.  
You love this sight that burns itself into your memory, like a painting that you will hold on to.


	5. Sabo

**//5 Coin// – Long, Long, Long**

♦ _Lost souls disappear forever.  
_ _But lost people always reappear. ♦  
  
_

Your gaze keeps wandering over the newspaper to the revolutionary sitting one table away in the same café as you. For days you have been shadowing him, trying to find a suitable situation to talk to him.  
Your insane and breakneck ideas are nothing new to you by now, but something inside you clearly praises the fact that you have outdone yourself this time. All you want to do is make a difference and help.  
For years now, your home island has been suffering from the influence of the navy and pirates, who simply don't want to agree on who ultimately owns the piece of land. They destroy houses, injure people and cause fear to settle like a blanket over all the inhabitants there. It is a shame to have to live like this and in order to change something, you started looking for help in the form of revolution.  
Thanks to the right questions and the knowledge that people like to talk when they drink too much, you were able to find one of your possible helpers quite quickly. But reaching him seems impossible, because no matter how often you encourage yourself, the sight of him makes your heart beat faster. Blond, wavy hair and big eyes that seem terribly friendly make you flinch every time. Your body refuses to do what you want and in the end all you can do is shadow him. A ridiculous behaviour, considering the reason you were looking for someone like him.  
A heavy sigh escapes you and you hide your head behind the scrap paper, whose informative lines are of no interest to you. Instead, your thoughts continue to dwell on this stranger, who robs you of any sense of duty with his appearance.  
You have been running after him for far too long, keeping an eye on him, not saying a single word, never getting too close. You make sure that you rarely lose eye contact and at the same time you turn your attention away from him so as not to have to look at him. His fine way of dressing stands out from the crowd anyway, which is why you are sure that you cannot lose him.  
But in spite of all this, you look back at him from time to time. Even at this moment, when you once again unobtrusively look over the edge of your camouflage and search for him. Your gaze wanders around the room, scrutinising every inch and causing an unpleasant feeling of unease to rise within you. You know exactly where he is sitting, but you cannot find him. For far too long, your gaze glides over the heads of the other guests until you are finally certain that he has disappeared. Your revolutionary has left while you were inattentive for a second.

Your hasty jumping up causes your chair to sweep across the floor with a deafening, unsightly scraping sound. All of a sudden, all eyes are on you, but you can't pay attention to that. All you know is that you have to find this man, which is why you quickly head for the exit, leaving the crowd behind.  
Warm rays of sunshine greet you outside the café and the confused chatter of several people at different corners throws you off your game for a moment. Everything in you slowly panics, because finding a revolutionary is like chasing a chameleon. Your aim knows how to adapt, to leave no trace within minutes and it imprints the insecurity in you. Not to have approached him simply because this strange feeling had flared up in your chest had been a mistake.  
Hastily you look around, jerking your head from one direction to the other. Somewhere between the colourful clothes of the women and the drab rags of the men, you think you can see his coat. Just for a moment he seems like a ray of hope you have to follow, so you run. Passing the groups of people and the whispering ladies at the small stalls, you try to make eye contact again, knowing that this time you will talk to him. You don't want to be distracted by him again, by his kindness, which you have observed several times in the last few weeks. You don't want to swallow your courage again just because this stranger bends down to a child and dries its tears, soothes it and gives hope. No matter how much his actions impress you, you want to forget the pitiful tingling and dry mouth and speak your wish. The people of your homeland need help and that should be your priority.

With difficulty, you squeeze past another group and end up at the edge of the city that occupies this island. Far and wide, you can only see a few people going about their daily tasks, and you feel this terrible stinging sensation in your chest. It makes tears well up and you breathe harder. You have lost your only hope and along with the feeling of disappointment, there is also the loss of someone else's love that you know nothing about. Something in you wanted to know this man better. The two of you could have achieved a lot. Something that no longer matters. That's why you give up for this moment, let the tears run down your cheeks and sob profusely. It's obvious that you have to start again from scratch and even if you didn't notice it before: _you are exhausted from this chase.  
_ “You've been following me for quite a while, haven't you?”  
The sudden question makes you flinch, startled. Immediately you look to the side. The stranger is slowly coming towards you, seeming to have just reappeared out of nowhere, and it relieves you. It makes you take a deep breath and gives you new hope, even though you can feel a lump settling in your throat. Having to talk to him seems harder than you really imagined, and on top of that you can't stop the tears. He seems to notice too, putting on an apologetic smile. “I didn't mean to scare you.”  
Shaking your head, you let him know that it is perfectly okay. In the end, the blame lies somewhere with you, and you can understand why he wants to avoid the prying eyes of a stranger.  
Opening your mouth a little, you want to say something, finally ask your question. Your pounding heart beats in your throat, stealing your words and leaving you speechless. He simply faces you, looks at you, seems so strange in this place that conveys the purest peace. The fact fascinates you, captivates you, but doesn't help you at all.  
“Is everything all right?” His question sounds concerned, for your tears are still rolling down and you can't bring yourself to say anything meaningful. But you nod, even if it seems like a lie in your pitiful situation.

“Okay, first take a deep breath!” His concern doesn't let up, makes him come closer and you are unable to back away. Nervousness eats through your muscles, making them shaky and unable to move. So you are at his mercy, watching as he stops close to you and lifts his hand only to place it against your cheek. Although he is wearing gloves, you feel that you can really feel him – the warmth and his skin on yours. At the same time, he runs his thumb close to your lower eyelid to wipe away a tear and reassure you. The soft smile on his features literally draws you in, kidnaps you and takes away the lively resonance in your chest. Your insides begin to fill with warmth, with love and devotion that seem completely out of place. You don't know this man, after all, and yet your eyes linger on his lips, on the scar that marks his face and even on scattered strands of blond hair. His touch makes all these impressions seem like part of the endless eternity you want to enjoy. Your counterpart, on the other hand, simply wants to help, wants to reassure you, breathes words at you that you will remember very carefully.  
“You are safe here, you don't have to be afraid anymore. Why don't we start from the beginning? My name is _Sabo_ and you are?”  
His voice trickles down to you, much like the shallow warmth of the sun's rays, ultimately letting you find your own language again. You answer him with your name and a simple statement that could change everything. You probably do it because you don't know any better, but for you it's the step to something big that might bring you more than you ever thought possible.  
“I need you.”  
 _And he smiles.  
_ Smiles and seems almost relieved when he answers you with a simple “ _I know_ ”.


	6. Smoker

**//6 Coin// – Smoker**

♦ _You can do business with anyone.  
_ _Even with the devils of the sea. ♦  
  
_

Your broad grin gives you a feeling of superiority as you roll naked in bed. The smell of cigars hangs heavy in the air and although one of the windows is open, its scent lingers. It has settled deep into your fabrics and it amuses you to know that you will never get the chance to get rid of it. _Smoker_ visits you far too often for that.  
Actually, he only wants to do business with you, but you know your charms and also know that the navy falls far short in lust. You, as an upstanding pirate, don't come off any better, which is why you blur the lines of the law somewhat. For him, the information you have is very important and he wouldn't dare arrest you as long as you were of use to him. On top of that, you give him satisfaction in a way that makes his head spin, so that every coming morning he is nowhere to be found. Not that it bothers you. It has already become a set routine that you meet again at the end of the day and spend the night together.  
Sighing softly, you turn onto your stomach, feeling the rough fabric brush against your body. It triggers a tingling sensation on your skin, awakens the desire inside you. Smoker could have stayed longer and yet now you lie alone in this bed, surrounded by his smell. All these little things make you sink your head hopelessly into the pillows and wait. You want him to come back and stay with you – for the boundaries between you to stop mattering. Lately you've been thinking more often about what it would be like to maybe switch sides. Next to the White Hunter, life would probably still be exciting and the feeling of loneliness in your chest would fade away. Where before there were so many men in your life, all of whom you had dulled your senses, this chronic smoker is all you really desire in the end. His white hair, the scars that define him. The muscular body and his modest, at the same time fair and just character leave little scraps of memories in your mind. You know very well how much he hates wasting his time with a pirate. If it were up to him, he would have already put you away without even a hint of mercy. But he has his own rules, doesn't quite follow the image of justice that Akainu embodies. With that, Smoker has weak points and you managed to cheat your way through the defence by offering him a deal. Steady information against steady silence as you cross each other on the street. The concept is fragile, but it works.

Slowly you pull yourself together, sit down, stretch. At the same time, his annoyed words from the night before come back to you.  
“ _If you don't keep your side of the bargain properly, I'll take every opportunity to put you behind bars._ ”  
He had been angry because you had been unable to tell him anything new. Admittedly, his desires have also increased immeasurably lately, as if he really wanted to get rid of you. Yet you know that the point to escape has already passed. Smoker wouldn't let you go. Either you play by his rules or he locks you up like the parasite you are in his eyes. A cockroach of the sea he likes enough to climb into bed with regularly, be gentle and let himself go a little.  
Meanwhile, you dare to wonder if he would even have the nerve to lock you up if you turned your back on him. At the same time, you also wonder if he would keep you if you asked him to. They are little thoughts that make your heart beat a little faster and fill your chest with warmth. Somewhere you feel uncomfortable harbouring such naive thoughts, which is why you finally stand up and hastily wrap yourself in your clothes. You need to get away from his smell to think more clearly. The fact that he must have left hours ago, leaving you alone with loneliness, robs you of your sanity.  
On the one hand, you deserve this kind of treatment, because between you this is nothing more than a business relationship with extras. But on the other hand, you want to make these extras the main reason that keeps you together.  
Finally, surrounded by the strong scent of his cigars, you have to admit to yourself that you have started to like him. As a man and a potential partner, not as a toy that you may break in the course of your journey.

Grumbling, you run your hands through your hair several times. The thought is cruel, because to get what you want, you have to approach the whole thing with a lot of sensitivity, which you really lack sometimes.  
Shaking your head slightly, you dismiss the thought, push this burgeoning problem away from you and head for the door to the hallway. Your fingertips touch the cold metal knob, reminding you of the hunter's jitte. You've been able to lay a hand on this weapon a few times, feel the bumps. It was like Smoker, if you thought of the little quirks and how terribly sturdy it was. Quite, that jitte was perfect for him and bad for your considerations. You had to block out everything about him, forget about it, to deal with it in more detail later.  
Finally, you force the door open, want to go ahead, but fail. Your path is blocked by a man who is only too familiar to you. Both cigars firmly in the corner of his mouth, he looks at you. You sense it, even though he is wearing his sunglasses.  
“Where are you going?” His voice seems rough, a little irritated. Probably he didn't expect to catch you on the hop.  
“Gathering information. Unless you don't need any more today.” A friendly smile graces your lips as you walk towards him, crossing your arms behind your back. “I'm happy to listen to you for a bit, too. You know you're welcome to complain to me.”  
Your words are a sideways slap at the lust that binds you. Just the sight of him makes your heart jump up and down wildly and at the same time it makes your body crave him. You like to be close to him and if that's what he wants, you comply with pleasure.  
For a moment he even seems to think about your offer. You are unsure because you can't see any movement in his face and you judge from his silence. Loosening your arms behind your back, you nestle closer to him, feeling his chest rise and fall unevenly and slowly. Contrary to his posture, he seems to find it difficult to stay still. Your hand rests on his torso, letting your fingertips run along his collarbone. He doesn't move, tolerating your attachment – at least for the moment.  
“Three hours. Don't even think about leaving.” Contrary to your expectation, he takes a step back, grabbing your wrists a moment later to stop you touching him. Your dumbfounded face is reflected in the lenses of your sunglasses, only irritating you further as he simply continues to speak. “I will wait here. Remember, I will hunt you down if you don't stick to the deal.”  
“Hmm, you're being awfully charming today, yet I haven't cheated on you once so far, Smoker. Step inside, wait, relax. I'll be happy to come back to you willingly.” Almost challengingly, the words leave your lips, moving him to let go of you and block your way for a brief moment before he steps aside. He hates to let you go for so many reasons it makes you smile. Sometimes he really thinks he has the upper hand in your business but you could slip through his fingers every day if you wanted to. He knows this as well as you do and it annoys him. Yet he won't let go, keeps up this weird relationship and you agree with him on this. In the end, you know one thing for sure. In your mind, Smoker is already yours and one day you'll find a way to really commit him to you too. Be it through love for each other or a simple hunt that keeps you both alive.


	7. Nefertari Vivi

**//7 Coin// – The Tax**

♦ _Taxes open almost every door.  
_ _You just have to ask for them in the right way. ♦  
  
_

The most beautiful thing in your life is your job. You realised that when you understood what you could do with it. Collecting taxes for the government to maintain a fragile peace is the best thing that can happen to you.  
If your victims don't pay, the navy steps in. Or the world aristocrats give the order to blow another country off the map.  
Basically, you don't care about the fate of those who have to pay. Unless, of course, they are Alabasta and its princess. _Nefertari Vivi_ is a woman you've had your eye on for a long time, and of all the islands in the world, you seek hers out the most.

Sighing softly, you lean out of one of the windows in the room where you have been left alone to wait. You always conduct your business with the king's daughter because you like to look at her and like her bite. She is one of the few women in such a high position who doesn't want to rely on someone else permanently. Maybe that is exactly why you enjoy spending time with her. Something in you wants to break the courage in her and force her to ask for help or mercy. You have so much power and towards her you keep getting this feeling that all the authority is of no use to you. So on the one hand you want to prove yourself wrong. But on the other, your twisted mind just wants her to demand your protection. If she would rely on you, not be quite so stubborn and brave, then you would have everything your heart desires.  
Namely, her undivided attention in many situations and with it, perhaps, her affection. Quite, the sight of her has turned your head. You can't even tell if it's because of her hair, whose blue seems to resemble the sky, or if it's her dark brown eyes that convey so much kindness. You yourself lack the latter because you often see things differently than she does. A perfectly normal fact for someone who works for the most powerful people in the world.  
You stroke your face with one hand, trying to collect yourself, as you hear the door slam shut behind you. Followed by clacking footsteps you realise: _Vivi has entered the room.  
_ Circumstances thus demand that you put on your business face and behave as you always do. Basically, this isn't difficult. You just have to provoke her and let things take their course.

“ _Your Honour._ ” You place a hand on your chest and bow slightly to greet Nefertari. She, on the other hand, waves away your formal action. You've seen so much of each other in the last few months that the formal side just seems like a masquerade.  
“So taxes are due again...” She stops, less than enthusiastically, in front of a small table where two chairs have been set up. Actually you are supposed to sit there together and talk business, but you like to stand there by the window, where the hot air is a nice contrast to the cool atmosphere inside the palace. Vivi, on the other hand, likes to remain standing. She doesn't like to relax near you because she can never tell what you're thinking about or what you're up to. A kind of security measure that seems purely pointless in your eyes.  
“Quite. Also, I have to announce that there has been an increase. We are now asking for a five percent surcharge.”  
“Five percent? That is usury! You are already asking too much money from us and now if you want to add five percent, this kingdom will soon be living in poverty!” Outraged, Nefertari raises her voice, looking at you as if you are a monster who wants to take everything away from her.  
“Shouldn't you consider yourself lucky that we aren't taking everything away from your people? Five percent is a surcharge of about thirty thousand berry. That is nothing.”  
“It may not be to you, but it is to us. The people here work hard for their money. They are happy and I want to give them the opportunity to stay happy. I don't want them to sink into poverty! Those people out there are not your toys. They have families, desires and dreams. So let them live and don't try to take away what they have worked hard to build. I reject the increase.”  
“Are you sure this decision is in your best interest? Alabasta is not valuable enough not to tear it to pieces.” Mindfully, you point out the obvious to her, watching as she presses her lips tightly together. She clenches her hands into fists, clearly angry that the people she is trying to protect have no value in the eyes of many. You can understand it, because you too are replaceable somewhere and only do your job so well that no one gets the idea of finding someone else for your post.  
You have no sympathy for her, but understanding for her behaviour and her rejection. Even when she is angry, she makes your heart beat a little lighter. It's like she's just taking the negative burdens away from you.  
“How are you asking us to pay these taxes? How are we supposed to take money out of people's pockets so brazenly? What else can you count as a cost?” Vivi's voice quivers, letting a hint of underlying anger resonate. You know that her questions are rhetorical, but you can't help answering.  
“It is quite simple. Every means of transport needs a way. You can tax it. When people sit down, tax the chairs. If it gets too hot, tax the water double or triple. If they want to flee, tax the ships fourfold. And if they ask stupid questions, just let them pay even more.” Shrugging your shoulders, you push the subject away. You don't take your eyes off Vivi for a second. She seems to have subdued her anger and looks calm as she looks at you. You can feel your pulse rising. You have often thought about what it would be like if she asked you for help in such situations. You just look into each other's eyes for a long time and then she asks you this question, lets you into her life with it and you get to know her weak, vulnerable side. Nefertari is just a young woman, just eighteen years young. She can't always be this strong. At least that's what you hope deep inside. Because you can't find another way into her life.  
You collect taxes for the fragile peace. You do it with full enthusiasm. These are the two things you keep telling yourself. But actually it looks a little different. You will never be able to get close to someone like Vivi in your position. Messing with a toy of the rulers is like a crime that can be punished worse than treason. You can only observe all the people you would like to have as friends from a distance. The same goes for Vivi, for whom you clearly feel more. However, you will never be the person at her side who can be sure of her love. There would never be a chance for that. Even if she confides in and falls for you, you will only be left with a secret love affair and that is not what you want. It would tempt you to make mistakes and you clearly cannot afford to make them.

“In that case, I'll tax everything and everyone.” Calmly folding her hands in front of her lap, the princess strides in your direction, bridging a small part of the distance that separates you. “Starting with you. You set foot on my land, that makes ten percent of my tax. You used a means of transport. That's three per cent of my tax. You have entered the palace, been provided with water and food. That is forty percent of my tax. You are talking to me, the Princess Alabastas. This is like a hearing, so we'll add seven percent. In all, you owe sixty percent of my tax. That shouldn't be a problem for you collectors and your masters. The other forty I get from my people. Discount you call it, don't you? Since they live here, work here and make the country a friendly place, they naturally pay much less for all those things. That's only fair, isn't it?”  
You can't help but raise an eyebrow in wonder. This woman fascinates you, draws you magically. Although you presented her with an immense problem, she once again knew how to help herself. In Vivi's eyes, the people in her kingdom have more value than anything else. If she has to set aside her kindness to do so, only to meet the scam as unfairly as it reaches her, then she does it. You can see clearly in her face that she really wants to protect the things she loves. She lays a protective hand over anyone who holds a place in her heart. Friends, family, the people.  
And in moments like this, you realise again and again how much you would like to be a part of it all.  
But you never will be.


	8. Charlotte Pudding

**//8 Coin// – Devil In Her Heart**

**  
**♦ _Even the devil knows how to love.  
_ _For he was never heartless, at any time, in any history. ♦  
_

  
She carries a demon in her heart and you know it. Even though most of the time she pretends to have worries and show kindness, her true nature is still out there. Somewhere within these four walls where you stand upright, shivering slightly, you can feel the presence of her dark, almost ugly side. She makes a cold sweat run down your spine and let you swallow dry several times.  
 _Charlotte Pudding_ could kill you at any time and you would not protest. Out of fear, out of love, and at the same time, out of awe at her ability to be someone completely different within seconds.  
For the moment, though, you seem safe, because her lovely gaze is on a cake she baked that morning. You know she has put effort into it, as she does with everything. However, she is loathe to see the result, not least because it is to be served up when her fiancé arrives on the island. Sanji Vinsmoke, a pirate, a chef, a member of a well-known family. Just the thought of your mistress, the woman you have protected for years and left alone only on a few occasions, marrying someone other than you, tears at your heart. You can feel the pain in your chest, realise that every blow is pure torment for your feelings.

“What a waste.” Muttering, Pudding puckers her mouth, making sure you can't help but fix her lips. How you would love to kiss her, but how impossible it is. There is no way that you will ever confess your feelings to her. In the end, you are not even sure if you can really reach her.  
It's easy for you to see that underneath her friendly nature is a dark side that she hides through her acting ability. But at the same time you can also see that this dark side is only a protective mechanism so that no one can hurt her any more. You have to pay very close attention to notice the soft, fragile, almost unhappy Pudding behind all the facets and lies. All triggered, by the third eye she possesses.  
It was only because of that addition that people picked on her, laughed at her, put her down. You can't understand the reason, because it doesn't make her less beautiful. At least not in your eyes, where she deserves only the best – far away from Big Mom and everyone else who torments her.  
You would love to take all the odds in your hands, tuck her slender body under your arms and run away. But you know that this act has no future. Still, the thought makes your heart beat faster, makes you happy, if not satisfied. In your mind you have a shot at Pudding, conquering her, showing her how important she is. In return, she would never hurt you, never leave you behind. If she were honest with herself, in those moments she would become an angel, loving and forgiving, because that is all that remains. Simple wishful thinking that disintegrates into itself.

“Maybe I should...change the glaze. Then it will be less delicious! But...that's not the point...” Thoughtfully, she puts an index finger to her lips, fixes the little cream dots she has previously sprayed on as decoration. When she is so engrossed in her work, blocking out everything around her, she doesn't seem malicious at all. In seconds like this you always doubt your observational skills, but you know exactly what the plan is for the next few days and it's beyond cruel. Pudding will greet her fiancé with a smile, be good to him, give him hope, only to kill him. She'll put a bullet in his heart and if you're honest, it's perfect. If everything goes according to plan, then you won't have to worry about her being taken away from you. But it will probably kill Pudding a little bit inside. She will suffer and you also know that there is nothing you can do.  
You are nothing more than a simple guard who watches over one of the members of the Charlotte family from time to time. You have neither the right to speak nor the permission to do anything other than stand upright in a corner and let your eyes wander. You can't make room for your love, never hold Pudding in your arms. All you have is the wish that she will never leave.  
Carefully shifting your weight on one leg, you try to spare the other. You have been standing in the same place for four hours. Your limbs are beginning to ache because the armour is heavy and the weapon even heavier. There is a sigh on your lips, which you hold back because you don't want to disturb Pudding, who still doesn't know what to do with the cake.  
“Mum will be furious if I ruin this. It just has to be right!” Groaning, she puts her head in the neck, leaning back a little as she holds onto the counter top. She seems to have made a decision, which also means her fiancé gets to experience more perfection than you ever will be able to. After all, you've never been allowed to taste anything that Pudding made. Inwardly, it makes you roll your eyes, because her fiancé would clearly think too highly of it.  
“Hey. Go to mum and tell her I'm done with the cake.” Brash, your beloved turns to you, giving an order that you accept with silence. You salute, looking into her eyes for a few seconds, which almost seems like an eternity. All you see are her auburn irises, which convey so much reluctance and at the same time weary hope that it makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand. Her manner is frightening. It really is.  
Yet you could never really shy away from it. There is too much behind that dark façade.


	9. Bartolomeo

**//9 Coin// – New World, Cannibal  
**

♦ _A person only needs one bullet to kill someone.  
_ _But the heart needs at least two. ♦  
  
_

Your heart beats wildly, makes you breathe faster, think. The crosshair points exactly at his chest, marking the spot that will lead him to certain death. You are sure of this, because the ammunition in your rifle is made of sea stone. There is no escape for this man, not on this island where you are to put a stop to him. The barrier fruit won't protect him this time, you both know that. _Indeed, you both know it.  
_ _Bartolomeo_ noticed your presence hours ago, leaning there against the wall of the house opposite your base, his hands in his pockets. He's confident you can't pull the trigger. Not on this afternoon, when the sun is frighteningly low in the sky and half the city is going about its daily business on the street. He is also convinced that you won't do it for personal reasons – even though it is your mission and failure would kill you. You yourself are aware of his thoughts, but you aren't sure if they are just fantasies. That is probably why you watch him silently through the telescope.  
Your body seems heavy, lying like dead flesh on the floor, which is already quite warm beneath you. The stone slabs heat up due to your nervousness, making your clothes stick to your body, drenched in sweat. In addition, you cannot put the cannibal out of your mind, because it would be a lie to claim that he means nothing to you. It would be pathetic not to admit to yourself that there is something between you and this pirate that made you really happy for a while. And you don't even know exactly what.  
Maybe it was the phone calls he made to you once a week telling you about his adventures. He sometimes takes things too lightly, but has clear goals in mind, wants to leave his own mark on the world.  
Or maybe it was the days you managed to cope with together. Hours in which you teased each other, had fun and spent the nights close together. Past memories that he destroyed with a single note on the wall.  
You loved him, still do in honest moments, but he chose his adventure over you. You would have given up your life as an assassin for him, but he didn't want you, never did

  
“Hey, did you kill that son of a bitch yet?” Cracking, a raspy voice reaches out from the tiny radio snail hanging from your collar. You know they're getting impatient on the other side because you're taking too long. Normally you work faster, but usually you also kill people you don't care about.  
Even though Bartolomeo has broken your heart, you long for him, for the sharp canines in your flesh and the stupid words afterwards. You miss his warmth, his weight on you, the fun you experienced with him. No one can make you laugh as much as that brush head, now waiting to die. One that you are instructed to give him. You must not fail, because one target means one bullet in the barrel of your gun and therefore only one shot. Actually, no problem, because you never fail.  
“Not yet, boss. Target is moving too much. Have limited visual contact.” In a composed voice, you give your superior an answer, smiling as you do so, because you either get the killing over with a smile or not at all. But it breaks in, shortly after your statement and confirmation on the other side. Killing that man down there is hard because you only see the good when your gaze brushes him. You can't be angry with him for his decision because you both always wanted something different and never wanted to look for a compromise. That's why you lie. You need this time, need every breath to calm your heart that seems to be bursting in your chest. It hurts, chokes your throat, takes your breath away. If you wait any longer, your fingers will start to shake, then the rest of your body, and that's bad for aiming. So you set to work, wanting to drown those happy memories in blood, to make them blurry and unrecognisable.  
Life is certainly easier without them.

Taking a deep breath, you pump your lungs full of air because that is all that seems to calm you down at this moment. Your pulse races and your blood rushes in your ears. You can no longer hear properly, can no longer feel the pain, are completely focused on your task. You fix your gaze on him through the telescope, take in his face, want to smile once more at his green hair, but you can't – you want to touch his tattoos and his warm skin once more, but you can't.  
Finally, your index finger rests on the trigger, leaving you with the thought that it was a good time. That you had fun with the light of the moon burning into your skin as you played with a strand of his hair.  
Never has murder felt so wrong, yet in the same sense, never has freedom nestled so close to your drained mind. You could seize it, all you have to do is pull the trigger. _And you do.  
_ Slowly, deliberately, as if every second is significant, you set the end in motion. Your index finger pulls in your direction, taking the mechanism of your gun with it and letting out a pop. For the first time it feels deafening, making you grit your teeth as your gaze remains fixed on the scene. It's a scene that makes your heart pound with relief because it's for the best. At the same time, it feels like a dagger is being driven through your chest because the entire weight of this mission is crushing you. It makes you feel guilty for shooting without really being sure what is best. You don't have a second shot at redemption. You are left only with the burning sensation in your eyes, the shaking of your shoulders, the tears that slowly well up. You can't avoid the sobs, can't swallow the lump in your throat.  
“Hey, I heard a gunshot! Did you kill him?” Again your superior's voice comes from the radio snail, this time barely reaching you. You barely register his words, don't want to hear them, and yet you have to pull yourself together. You can't completely suppress the tremor in your voice, but no one will care.  
“Yes. The target has been eliminated.”  
“Very good work! I'll pass on the message.”

You are still looking through the telescopic sight, staring at the spot it is aiming at. The cannibal has closed his eyelids, seems somehow relieved at this moment. His body is terribly relaxed, as if all the weight has been lifted from him.  
The lightness only benefits him and you think you can see his lips form a shallow “ _thank you”_ before he pushes himself off the wall and leaves. You know why. You know exactly.  
Hanging your head, finally letting the scenario fade from view, you put your hands in front of your face. The wetness of your tears feels sickening on your skin, wrong and forbidden. Your life would undergo a turnaround at this point, that was for sure, should worry you more than the chaos inside you.  
Quite, you have eliminated the target, your common sense.  
But you missed Bartolomeo completely.


	10. Portgas D. Ace

**//10 Coin// – Good Night**

♦ _Not every love remains close.  
_ _But it still crosses borders. ♦  
  
_

A light breeze in your hair, bloody images in your head, stone at your feet. You have to say goodbye. Goodbye to the man you could never spend enough time with.  
The sun is already low on the horizon, reaching out to the sea in the far distance, drawing the last rays of light across the island where you are resting. _Maybe you will stay in this place, you don't know._ There is no other destination on your map than _Ace's_ grave.  
Carefully, your fingertips touch the rough surface of the monument, the bumps of its name. Someone left flowers there not long ago, touching one grave and grazing the other. Whitebeard is also buried in this place, a man of honour, a pirate with a family. Meeting both here feels like you're finally home again.

You too were once a member of the large family around Edward and his divisions. Your job was your father's health. You were a nurse, along with a few other women. It was obvious that one day death would knock at the door and the chief would have to follow it, but no one thought about dying then. Not Whitebeard, even though he was ill, and especially not Ace, because he was to live to see so much more.  
The navy took that future. Sakazuki crushed it in his hands and all you could do was watch. A weak performance, but you never learned to fight.  
The hazy memories seem like yesterday, when the ship began to sway beneath your feet and you were afraid it would sink. The shockwave of fighting and devil's fruit made the sea roil, making it roar deafeningly. Only a rope and a mast had ensured that you could find a foothold somewhere. But it wasn't your life that made your hands tremble and body scream. It was that of your comrade, dearest.  
Your eyes were glued to that scenario, to the graceful flames whose heat couldn't reach you that day. Yet you knew at the time exactly how warm they could be. But there you couldn't even hear the crackling. All that remained was the clear view of a successful rescue manoeuvre and the lump in your throat. Your pulse raced wildly, turning your stomach. You knew it wasn't over yet and you would have laid down your own life just to be in the wrong. But that's not how life works, even if you didn't want to admit it at the time. That information only came to you when that hole gaped in Ace's chest and the blood stained the stone floor dark red.  
That day, hundreds died inside because they had failed.  
You too.

You take a deep breath, make sure you are still alive somehow. Sometimes everything about you just feels dead and it makes you think of how Ace must have felt in his last moments. Tired, cold, somewhere on the edge between being forgotten and forgetting himself.  
Averting your eyes from the grave, you briefly observe all the swords that have been sunk into the soft earth. More tributes to dead souls who have paid for a misstep. They have left you alone and even if it makes you angry, you cannot blame them. Some lines you cannot cross, no matter how hard you are able to fight. You realise this and that is why you want to be close to them.  
You leave your hand on the memorial, run it down as you get on your knees. Then you break contact, drop onto your back and look straight into the dark mirror of the sky. Dark blue with a red accent. A little like the sea, soaked with the blood of your comrades. With the blood of your love. _Maybe you really will stay.  
_ Slowly you lower your eyelids, block out this sight. You keep your mouth open, a little, to breathe, because the air seems more constant when it runs cold along your throat. This night you will spend by the side of the man you have always had your eye on. Black hair as wavy, as free as his character. A smile, adorned with freckles, so carefree. Those dark eyes, silent with pain. He too had a history, something that gnawed at him. You always wanted to lift that burden from his shoulders, but never got the chance.  
Instead, you can only feel the oppressive silence beneath the grass, tickling the bare parts of your body. Its rustling, so close, reminds you of the roaring waves. You've never escaped this day.

“You came to sleep? Could have been my idea.”  
Inhaling, you can feel the stings in your chest, the tears in your eyes barely held back. Taking only a moment, you hum in agreement before lifting your eyelids. “I thought so.”  
“What are you doing here?” He's bent over you, holding his hat with one hand, grinning at you. The mischievousness is reflected in his eyes, as is the last of the evening blush in the beads of his necklace. The light reaches through his body, making him look so fragile and inconspicuous that you hold your breath for a moment. He is only an imagination, a ghost of your deepest desires, and yet he is there.  
“I've come to pay my respects...or something,” you murmur, quiet and unintelligible, but he hears you. His smile fades, gives way to a thoughtful expression. It was always like that. He took the hardest hurdles with an inane gesture, because it was easier to dismiss things than to let them get to ones soul.  
“So you've come to say goodnight to me?”  
“Yes.” Your voice resembles the breath of the wind, carried to it, wherever it may be. It is all you can wrestle to, knowing you must not touch him. An attempt to lift your hand and lay it on his cheek would only be disappointing. It wouldn't reach him. Your quivering lips and dry swallowing are already price enough. Your heart wouldn't endure that too. You really would stay in this place.  
“I wasn't planning on going to sleep yet,” he whispers, matching your volume. For the first time you see the regret on his features and the darkness at his back. Sure, it's the sky that keeps the night with him, but for you it's very much more.  
“I know that.”  
“Would it be okay if I just went to sleep now?”  
“No,” you don't want him to leave, but you haven't been able to stop it for a long time, “but you have to.”  
“So you'll let me go?” He looks taken aback, even though you can't see it in his face. Above you are just those eyes, fixing you, with so much love that you can hardly see clearly. So you lower your eyelids, surrendering to the darkness. You feel the cold against your cheeks, the wet trails that stretch to your ears. Part of you wants to believe that he is touching you, not that you are crying.  
“No, I'm not letting you go. Not like this. But...” You can't find the words.  
“I know... I know.” His tone resembles gratitude, but sighing and melancholy. “Sweet dreams, the nights are far too short in this crew.”  
“Sweet...dreams.” It is with difficulty that the goodbye finds its way past your lips, leaving so much unresolved that you just don't want to let go. “Ace?”  
“Yes?”  
“I love you.”  
For a breath you wait, drawing it out, holding your breath as long as you can. But you don't get an answer.  
You will never get it.


	11. Viola

**/11 Coin// – A Shot Of Rhythm And Heat  
**

♦ _Grace is reflected in a person's movement.  
_ _Sometimes you only notice this when you are already under the spell. ♦_

  
She is perfectly pretty, you notice immediately when you see her dancing there on the cobblestones. Actually, shopping should be the most important thing at this moment, because you have to take care of the crew. But this woman forces you to stop, draws you in, dance after dance, as her pitch-black hair gracefully follows the charming movements she sets. The blue pearls on her earrings seem to sparkle against the dark ground, making the red rose in the strands look more striking, haunting gazes frozen as you cling to her face, to her body.  
Her expression is annoyed, almost angry, as if the rhythm of guitar and clapping hands creates a familiar image in her mind. One that reminds her of the worse days, at the same time forcing her to concentrate because she somehow lives this fast melody and yet doesn't want to live it. She belongs in this place, at the same time she doesn't fit here. You don't know why, but you realise that she didn't plan this dance herself. She does it of her own free will, in the middle of this city, because it is probably the freedom she has.  
Her slender figure shifts weight in one direction as she joins in the clapping of the participants. _Short, determined, beckoning._ Then she mirrors this image, taps her fingers together as if playing castanets in the background. _Charming, playful, deliberate._ Followed by a reach for the dress to lift it, over to a quick turn and the clear stomp of heels on the floor, she creates a sound that almost defiantly blends into the music. _Consenting, unseen, mesmerising.  
_ The fabric elegantly hugs her curves, making the dots on it seem distracting as she sways and the ruffles intoxicating. Some of the men and women don't really know where to look, while you are only aware that your heart is beating faster with every second. Their movements are amazingly infectious and you know there is no escape.

Attention focused on her full lips, you can almost feel her breathing on your exterior. Somewhere between wild blackness and blood-red leaves, this feeling spreads, licking over every cell of your body and inviting you to take risks. An easy act of adaptation, because her grace makes everything freeze with fascination.  
Unwillingly you imitate it, draw in the air deeply, exhale intermittently. The sweat that beads lightly on this woman's skin awakens lust in you, awakens the desire for something unexpected. Perhaps for the hunt. Maybe for excitement.  
The rhythm grips you, already flowing through every vein, making you tap a foot almost unconsciously. You want to get to know her, to get closer to her, and at the same time it's no secret that you don't have the time.  
You swallow dryly, want to avert your gaze, can't, fail. Your pulse races, your breath goes far too fast, although you only follow her in your head. Still, the heat eats through your light clothing, won't let you go. It's driving, chilling.  
 _You've never danced flamenco before._

Enraptured by her movements, the passion she puts into this dance, all resistance is futile. The feeling of this unbridled lust makes your fingers tingle, your legs seem restless and your heartbeat pound so loudly that almost everything else seems insignificant. Only this stranger in tune with the beat remains. _And you walk towards her.  
_ As if it were natural, you turn, stop, look at her, stamp your feet three times. Alternately, because you want to lure her in the same way she does with her spectators. She actually looks over at you, examines you from her fawn eyes, answers you in the same beat with a similar movement, coming a little closer. For the first time you notice how seductive this dance seems, how much emotion you can let out and how it feels when all eyes are on you. It isn't uncomfortable. In this situation, it's not piercing, it's not oppressive, it's not scary. None of that exists in this performance because you are sinking into the rhythm, just as you are sinking into the sight of this beauty that you have unconsciously challenged.  
The guitar strings buzz, making a sound that is seductively foolish and heated at the same time. You follow this up and down of hot waves, twist your wrists, lure this woman from afar with your fingers, amaze her with your straight turns and your own sound that your shoes leave on the rock. Like a fight, you come closer to her, give her space to respond to your movements, then start again. You fit perfectly into this image, somehow, with mismatched clothes and lack of discipline, but it doesn't matter. Not to her, not to you, not to the people who can still watch and feel the fever breaking out on their minds.

The closeness you have begun to share from one minute to the next seems to be on fire. Your skin burns, your pulse races, the oxygen doesn't seem to be enough and yet there is no way to stop. The smell of sweat and perfume assaults your nose, seems so terribly natural in this place that you hardly notice it.  
You circle each other, cautious as lions, eager as hyenas, graceful as peacocks. Set up for a power struggle like wolves you are not, yet mirroring.  
Her eyes fix on you, meeting there that interest that has brought you to this situation. It makes her irises shine, gives them life that seems surprised yet satisfied. This space in between, full of unexpected things, draws you together, lets you bridge the few centimetres that separate you. Cool fingertips find space on the warm shoulder of your counterpart. Chest to chest, legs positioned equally, free hands raised, you present the final position in this rhythm that ends just in time for the last stirring. She is so close to you, doesn't break this contact in two when it would have been time long ago. Instead she waits.  
“I saw you,” you say, your voice as delicate as a breath, because you mean something else than you would think. The intoxication is still eating through your veins.  
“I know.” She answers you in a soft tone, sounding melodic, not particularly happy. For just a moment, you share that breath. You both know she is more than a simple dancer who puts romance and love first. You also know that you are nothing more than a free human on the high seas, lost in her countenance. Perhaps that is what leaves an intoxicating feeling and at the same time separates you in the conventional manner. It is only millimetres, but they dim the magic that surrounds you.  
“You must leave now.” Her words are clear, her instruction sobering. You can't stay because you don't belong in this place. Not like she does.  
“Without your name?” You want to try, want to spend at least a few days on rushing waves thinking about this encounter. Something she understands, welcomes with a shallow smile as she picks the rose from her hair. Her slender, long fingers tuck the blossom behind your ear, leaving a touch so unassumingly sobering.  
“ _Violet_.” She whispers, coming closer once more, kissing you on the cheek. A pleasant tingle spreads, sending heat up your face. Soft pink colours your features, makes you take one last look into those big brown eyes. “For you _Viola_.”


	12. Dellinger

**//12 Coin// – Dellybella**

♦ _In his eyes, he can have everything.  
_ _Even the life of a human being. ♦  
_

  
“How old is he?”  
“Too young,” you whisper listlessly, exhausted by the eternal ups and downs, “but too old to lecture him anymore.”  
“At least he lets you live.” Sight fixed on the glass in her hand, the waitress opposite, in this bar, dares not to glance at your companion. You, on the other hand, can't turn away from him instead, eyeing his long legs in heels and watching him place an order for someone else. Too much for you to carry, too little to satisfy him. Even from a distance he seems stuck up as he puts his hands on his hips and leans forward like he's talking to a small child. This is his way, part of very much more.  
It's just a few minutes of silence where you can breathe and speak freely. Seconds that you count down before the crushing feeling of constant uncertainty gnaws at your nerves again. Because _Dellinger_ is usually always by your side and any wrong sound could mean your last breath.  
Neither are you his lover, nor a friend. Your position at his side can be compared to the value of a toy that this boy learned to love at first sight. At that time, death would have been better than the contradiction you now live through daily. The memory is still very clear, showing the image of dead tracks that Doflamingo and his dogs left in your home. Everyone who had no value died. Anyone who could no longer work, was sick or limited was wiped out. Children whose cries were too loud fell silent within seconds, choking on their own blood. You were supposed to go down with them, to be killed by Dellinger. But he spared your life because your gaze triggered something in him that he probably didn't know. Instead of fear, only anger, aversion and bitter hatred remained, while your heart beat up to your throat, leaving aching stabs. The smell of gunpowder and metal ate into your senses. However you must have affected him, his feeling had been different from yours.  
And with that, Doflamingo made you a gift.  
A toy of Dellinger's.

A sigh fills the space that separates you from the waitress. In the last two years, your hatred has subsided. Even though he could kill you at any moment, he treats you passably. Well enough so that sometimes you have to think that if he were a little less cocky, he wouldn't be such a bad man. If he were less prone to violence and a little kinder.  
Averting your eyes from Dellinger, you listen to the surroundings, the confused voices behind full glasses. Flowing alcohol, clattering cutlery. A hungry mob of people making a life for themselves in this kingdom. A drunken number of idiots unaware of the terrible fate behind the scenes. People are forgotten, mutated into rusty toys that toil non-stop, only to break one day. Life has no value here. Not for anyone. _You know that.  
_ A clacking sound makes you sit up and take a deep breath. The quiet seconds of your freedom are over. He is coming back.  
His heels and lilting beat betray him in every crowd because he doesn't have to fear being discovered. In his eyes, he is strong enough to take on anyone who is not family. You wouldn't be surprised if at some point he challenges Doflamingo for fun because he thinks he's stronger than everyone else. He kills what is in his way. He destroys what isn't good enough in his eyes. It is your good fortune that he has taken a liking to you. Somehow, even though you're just an ordinary person. You can't fight, you can't run, you just have this look in your eyes that reflects everything but fear.

“We should bring in some entertainment.” A huff in your ear, goosebumps on your body, icy cold tracing their paths over the hairs. The closeness to him radiates warmth, desire you want to escape and fall for at the same time. It is confusing when the blush shoots into your cheeks and your stomach seems full of butterflies. Tingling, delightful, a little arousing, yet also repulsive. The thought of having to be closer to Dellinger than necessary sends a shiver down your spine. You yourself no longer know how you feel about him. That's why you stare stubbornly straight ahead, ignoring him with a pounding heart. If he wants to kill you, let him. Otherwise, you won't admit defeat so quickly. _Dellinger, however, won't either.  
_ You feel his fingers tangling in your hair, grabbing and pulling. Pain runs through your roots as he turns your head rapidly to the side. Budding reluctance arises, making you suppress the urge to spit in his face. Instead, all you can do is pucker your mouth, look at him with an expression that resembles utter disinterest. In such cases, running away seems like the best option. You're not handcuffed, not tied up. Late at night, when Dellinger is asleep, you could run. But it's those strange moments in these situations when you look at him and want to stay. Part of you doesn't want to leave, wants to stay with this boy whose behaviour is anything but endearing. Even more of you wants to kill him, sometimes simply desire him. Maybe because you know he can protect you. The more you grow fond of him, the safer you are. However, the thought disgusts you. It is wrong, terribly reprehensible, not an act of clear human sense.  
You don't know where to go with yourself as he forces you to maintain eye contact. Only a shallow trembling of the body remains, a shaking of your shoulders. A wide grin reveals pointed teeth. He could rip you like a lamb.  
“Do what you want.” Your voice is like a whisper, sharp and dismissive. “I don't care.”  
“Anything I want?” He inquires, has that telltale glint in his eye. It makes you falter, breathe in unevenly. Dellinger makes the most of his time, moving closer until you can feel his breath on your lips. A tingling spreads, on your skin and in your stomach. _It's strange._ He's never kissed you before, and now he's close enough to you to ultimately manage that difference. Somehow unstoppable, gentle, the tips of your noses touching. Then he darts forward the last few inches, past your face to your ear. A probing stinging spreads. You feel wet saliva, sharp canines in your flesh. Hot blood, surging. Then a tickling. He licks your small injury with his tongue, making you wince. You breathe faster, noticing the racing heart inside you. His voice, meanwhile, approaches your mind, in low, playful tones. “I'm going to make you very happy tonight.”  
What you're left with is a dry swallow. Real closeness at his side is just wishful thinking.  
He would never let you get that close.  
He would never kiss you because toys need a different kind of affection.


	13. Dracule Mihawk

**//13 Coin// – Think For Yourself**

♦ _Free spirits cannot be bound.  
_ _You can only pursue and know them as lost. ♦_

He sits in his armchair, his gaze fixed on your body, while the glass wanders in circles in his hand. The wine dances along the rim, leaving pale curtains that fade away with holes. In the end, nothing is left behind, gathering back into the liquid, and you're afraid it will look the same between you.  
Nearby, the fireplace crackles, consuming the wood that piles there daily. It distracts you, when you are standing half naked in the room, unable to look away from your counterpart for a moment. Physically you are present, mentally trapped in bottomless desires. Forgotten by time, by him, though you know how to spend hours together. Ticking seconds that shake your world with every breath and awaken false carelessness. Yet you didn't actually come for coitus, wanted to tell him that you've had enough of running after him all the time. As docile as a dog, hiding like creepers under stones. All because of a feeling you can't live out. On the side of the pirates, there is simply no room for love with a Shichibukai. You wanted to reproach him for that, to ask him somehow to stop turning your head. But his bare chest, the eyes of a hawk, the movements of a confident man, none of it lets you go. He knows he must act to stop you from ever returning. He knows it well, but nothing happens. Maybe because he thinks there are more things you can share. Groundless ideas that will ruin you both. Because _Dracule Mihawk_ is a man of a thousand lies, lost truths and forgotten ways.  
He is as clearly aware as you are that all the secret words he speaks when the wine hits and the sex is satisfying are nothing more than empty promises. You can't have anything together, you have no future, and yet you can't let go of each other. Again and again you seek him out. Again and again he finds you.  
Whenever you close your eyes and his strong hands run tinglingly over your cold skin, when the heat licks over the sensitive parts of your body and leaves you in ecstasy, then you have missed the moment to escape. Each time anew. In those minutes you are defenceless, trapped in his gaze, and he can do whatever he wants with you.

“What will you do next?” Your voice drowns out the crackling in the fireplace, yet seems hushed in the evening mood. A little pressed, because his eyes seem to look right through you. Full of disinterest.  
“Who knows.” He tears the question apart in the air, throws it away because it doesn't matter to him. Not in these moments that so amicably draw everything to themselves. “I guess I'll wait until the sea gets rough.”  
“An unknown time, then. Good, then I will go.”  
He hesitates with a reply, looking at you a little longer before lowering his gaze and turning to his wine glass. “Enjoy the freedom.”  
“Enjoy?” Something inside you struggles to compose yourself. You hardly expected other words, and yet you are annoyed by the lightness that resonates in them. As if your actions are perfectly equal to him, which they may be, but in your view they shouldn't be. You expect more, although in the same breath you also have to think for yourself. To take your own path, to become stronger. And yet there is something in you that wishes Mihawk to come along, to start the journey by your side. But he is not one to chase freedom. He has everything he needs, fewer rules than people ashore and even less to worry about. An advantage if you're a navy dog.  
A disadvantage if you are looking for more than foreign closeness.  
The life that seems so rosy in your head shatters into shards in the face of reality. For him, the nights together are just a diversion. Never more and never less.  
 _At least that's what he thinks._

The realisation bites in, making you nod and cross your arms in front of your chest. You swallow the bitter taste of rejection on your tongue. Simply being written off is not to your taste. There has to be more to it than that. More than a dance that keeps drawing its lines in circles, leaving you alone at the start of a day.  
“Mihawk...” Tonelessly you ask, drawing his gaze back in your direction. Waiting, patient as he sits there, listening to the crackle in the room that makes your voice seem unfamiliarly brittle. “Ever thought about how you feel about these lessons?”  
“Free. Unbound.” He takes a breath, sighs dismissively. In his mind, the decision of your union has long been made, and you know he will bring you nothing more than despair, don't you likewise let go of the absurd desires inside you. “Shouldn't you find out where you stand on all this before you ask me?”  
“I already know, and I think I made my decision a long time ago.”  
“You're leaving?”  
“No.” The answer brushes across your lips faster than you can control. A surprise for you, equally one for him. You can't run anymore, already stuck in this trap you've set for yourself. “Not yet.”  
“Interesting.” His gaze changes, expresses burgeoning fascination. He's been looking at you differently. Like someone who comes to coitus and goes to experience. But you think you can be free with him and that makes every thought in this room simply void. You both sense this, which is why he stands up, puts the glass down on a nearby table and slowly walks with firm steps in your direction. The sight of him captivates you, intones a sigh of sorry pleasure. Your pounding heart seems terribly startled. Quite, you have no future, but you have successive days, long nights and endless hours in which kisses grace your neck and the heat of his body makes the cold evenings pleasantly warm. Every touch is like a new beginning, a journey into the unknown that you both fall for.  
 _And you realise it's enough.  
_ Not for the future, and not for your desires either. But for both of you, in the dichotomy of choice. A middle way. _Your way._


End file.
